


Only You {Always You}

by mktellstales



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Parentlock, Post S4, it is what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mktellstales/pseuds/mktellstales
Summary: His annoyance was thick as he double backed from his path to the kitchen, but he didn’t crack as his mouth melted into John’s for the third time that night; it seemed John learned the quickest way to outsmart his tantrums.- A little post-S4 fix-it ficlet for your pleasure.





	Only You {Always You}

Sherlock stood, stunned, several fingers pressed against his burning lips, and the others still poised to finish the five points he was making on....Christ, he didn’t remember what the hell it was he was talking about.

“You kissed me.,” he stammered.

John nodded from where he still stood, just centimeters away, his own expression less surprised than Sherlock would have imagined, had he ever imagined a moment he and John kissed.

“Yes,” John said,

“Why did you kiss me?”

“To shut you up.”

“And that was your brilliant idea?”

“It worked.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Smart arse.

Sherlock’s fingers finally slipped away, and he regained the bit of his brain that had gone fuzzy, “Bit extreme,” he said.

John laughed, and Sherlock saw a bright, beautiful flush dance across his face,“It is what it is, yea?”

“God’s sake, there’s that phrase again. We’ve been hiding behind it for months now. Whatever it is, it has to be something.” 

“It is something, Sherlock.”

It was two broken and lost men who used what little strength they had left inside to mend the cracks in the other. It was a demasked sociopath who learned how to love and an old soldier who never knew he hadn’t known how; unspoken moments that screamed in their heads, missed touches, and times when their lips should have brushed, but never did. 

“It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”

“That’s infuriatingly ambiguous.”

“Not everything can be deduced and analyzed, not even by you.”

“That’s just infuriating.”

“I know,” John’s fingers touched Sherlock’s cheek where the warmth of the last time he touched it still lingered. 

The moment caught him off guard, something only John seemed to have the power to do, since the moment he walked into Sherlock’s life, which was unexpected all on it’s own. Sherlock had lived so long in his self-imposed loneliness, he never expected he would find anyone he wanted to keep, let alone someone who wanted to keep him too. 

Sherlock caught John’s hand before it slid away and left him cold again., “it’s love, isn’t it?” he asked, unsure what John would say in return, what he wanted him to say.

“I’m afraid so.” 

Sherlock breathed in the answer and let it fill his lungs so tight they could burst, and then he exhaled every doubt, every aborted confession, every lie thrust upon himself against John’s lips. He surrendered to the sentiment and the savage of it as he clawed at the barrier of cotton and wool that kept John’s skin away from his while he tasted the salt of tears against his tongue. 

If it lasted forever, that wouldn't be long enough, but it was only a fleeting moment before Rosie stirred from the sleep it took John so long to get her to.

“ They have a sixth sense,” John whispered against Sherlock’s chin.

“ Do not,” 

“ Sure they do,” John crossed the room and pulled her from the cot, “ every time Mary and I had a quiet moment…” John’s words trailed, but his thoughts remained, loud and heavy against the soft whimpers of the baby.

“ It's alright, John.” 

“ She liked you. When I still hated you, she liked you.”

“I liked her, too.” 

John’s reverence stretched along the space between them for seconds that felt like minutes before he soldiered himself, and came back to the reality he sometimes still forgot he lived in.

“Bottle or nappie?” he asked.

“ What?”

“ Do you want to make her a bottle or change her?.”

“Can't I just entertain her while you do them both?”

“ With another round of, this is how the victim could have done it? I don’t think so.”

Sherlock sighed in an all too easy acquiescence; he wondered sometimes if every Watson had this cult-like affect on him. “ Fine. I'll make the bottle.”

“ Not too hot.”

“ Yes, John, I know.” 

“And, Sherlock?”

His annoyance was thick as he double backed from his path to the kitchen, but he didn’t crack as his mouth melted into John’s for the third time that night; seemed John learned the quickest way to outsmart his tantrums. 

“Will you be doing that often?” Sherlock asked when they parted to tiny fingers against their faces. He gently nibbled at them to a raucous, little laugh that made him smile. 

John shrugged, “as often as I need to.” 

“Right, well, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He kissed them both on their forehead and they stood together, finally void of a long standing pain, and that was exactly what it was - freedom from ache and longing, from self-destruction and self-doubt; the allowance to love and be loved however they pleased, as long as it was just the two of them….


End file.
